


if the heavens ever did speak

by interropunct



Series: we were born sick, you heard them say [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, M/M, Misgendering (brief), Non-Binary Bucky Barnes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Transphobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Queer Steve Rogers, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:25:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3592830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interropunct/pseuds/interropunct
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since he was little Steve felt different, felt wrong. But Bucky’s different too. Together from Brooklyn to battlefield they try to figure themselves out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>He wasn’t sure when he learned what it meant to be queer. But the first time he thought about two boys kissing he knew it was a bad thing to think. He quickly imagined the two boys pushing each other away but that thought made his chest hurt.</i><br/><i>Later he thinks its almost funny. The bullies knew before he did.</i><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1926-1935

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was prompted by the fact that so many fics I read featuring a trans character are about how much it sucks, and the dysphoria and transphobia and general difficulties of being trans. There’s definitely a reason for those narratives but I got tired of only seeing that. So here’s some not entirely realistic, wish-fulfillment fic about Bucky being non binary.
> 
> Also this is dedicated to [faun-songs](http://faun-songs.tumblr.com/) because their art of non-binary Bucky, especially pre-war Bucky in dresses really kept me going while I was writing this. To see their art and other art and headcanons that inspired this fic check out my [non binary bucky barnes](http://interropunct.tumblr.com/tagged/non-binary-bucky-barnes) tag. Thanks to Kay(e) and Becca for beta reading this fic! Enjoy!

Bucky was six when he asked his mom what makes someone a girl. She told him little girls and little boys had different stuff between their legs and that’s what made them girls or boys. He asked what kind of stuff he had and she told him he had boy parts of course. But this didn’t seem right to Bucky. What did the stuff in your underwear have to do with if you got to wear dresses or not? It wasn’t like anybody saw that stuff anyway so what did it matter?

He decided to ask Mrs. Rogers. He’d only known Steve and his mother for a few months but he knew Mrs. Rogers was smart. She was a nurse. She’d know if his mom what right about all this stuff about bodies.

He went over to Steve’s apartment after school like he did most days and they waited for his mom to get home. When she got off shift she put a stew on and sat with them to hear about their day. Steve was drawing a picture of an elephant which his teacher had been telling them about. Bucky saw his chance.

“Mrs. Rogers, what makes someone a lady?” He thought there was a difference between being a girl and being a lady but he wasn’t sure what it was. His mother sometimes told his sisters to act like ladies or said women on the street weren’t being proper ladies when they kissed a man in public. He hoped Mrs. Rogers would know what he meant. She smiled.

“Bucky, being a lady is about choices. Ladies respect their families, the Lord, and themselves. They carry themselves like every step is important and they’ve thought about its consequences. They don’t galavant about or act as they shouldn’t.”

That made much more sense to Bucky. He respected the Lord and his family and himself. But he didn’t always think about every step before he made it, that would be exhausting. So maybe he wasn’t quite a lady, but he wasn’t not a lady either.

* * *

Steve didn’t remember learning about queers. He remembered walking through the dirtier parts of town to get to the grocers and seeing men standing together outside a club of some kind. He could tell from the way his mother held his hand tighter and walked faster that there was something wrong with these men. He remembered peering into an alleyway as they passed by and seeing two dim silhouettes kissing but he didn’t connect the two things.

But he knew by the time the first bully called him a fairy that it was a bad word, that it meant you were a bad person. And he knew, somehow he just knew, that it wasn’t Bucky who had first told him what exactly it meant. Steve didn’t really talk to many other people so he wasn’t sure who had been the one to tell him. But he knew it wasn’t Bucky.

So he wasn’t sure when he learned what it meant to be queer. But the first time he thought about two boys kissing he knew it was a bad thing to think. He quickly imagined the two boys pushing each other away but that thought made his chest hurt.

Later he thinks its almost funny. The bullies knew before he did.

* * *

Having sisters meant Bucky was well-acquainted with playing dress up. The summer after he met Steve, his older sister Rebecca would often try on their mother’s dresses when she was out. They didn’t fit her yet; she was only 13. But she would put on their mother’s lipstick and tell them to call her Mrs. Horowitz because at the time she was keen on Billy Horowitz.

And by that time his little sister Dorothy was old enough to try on Rebecca’s dresses and they’d all pretend to have tea together. Most of the time Bucky played the handsome suitor who couldn’t decide which girl was prettier or smarter. They would pretend to puff their cigarettes and smile at talk about all the dance halls they’d been to and friends they had seen.

Sometimes though, Rebecca would get bored with this game. She would take Bucky by his skinny shoulders, eye him up and down and say ‘yes, you’ll make a lovely lady.’ Then she would giggle like she was joking but Bucky loved her for saying it anyway. He would put on Rebecca’s dress, the blue one with the white trim and Rebecca would carefully apply a little of their mother’s lipstick and rouge. And he’d look at himself in the mirror, twirl around and smile with his pretty red lips.

They knew they weren’t supposed to get into their mother’s things so they always cleaned themselves up and got back into their proper clothes long before ma was meant to get back. Still, on those nights Bucky would fall asleep to the thought of dancing with a handsome man, blue dress swirling around his ankles.

He didn’t really wonder if this was normal, if all boys wanted to be girls sometimes. But one night a few years later he was walking home from the park with Steve and Rebecca when he saw a pretty lady standing outside one of the queer bars that Bucky knew they were supposed to avoid. But he couldn’t help it, her makeup was perfectly applied and her dress had pale pink flowers on it.

“Oh Steve, look!” he said, nudging Steve with his elbow. “Isn’t she pretty?”

“I-I think that’s a fella Bucky.” he said uncertainly. The lady did have broad if bony shoulders under her dress and an adam’s apple but Bucky could just tell.

“Nah, look.” he said and ducked over to the lady, dragging Steve behind him. “Heya ma’am I just gotta say you look swell.” Her face got kind of stiff like she was waiting for him to take it back but he just smiled, wide and genuine as he knew how to make it and her face softened.

“Thanks doll. You’re pretty cute for a squirt. I-”

“Bucky!” Rebecca had evidently noticed they had fallen behind. She grabbed Bucky’s free hand and dragged him away. He let go of Steve’s hand to wave goodbye to the lady. “Bucky, you can’t talk to people like that.”

“What?” he asked, confused. “Why not?”

“Because,” Rebecca hissed, still gripping his hand. Steve trailed behind, clearly listening. “They’re perverts. They’re queers and ma would tan your hide if she saw you talkin’ to them.”

“But what’s wrong with them?”

“They’re men who dress up like women, Bucky. But they still go around with other men. It’s against the Lord’s will.” Rebecca seemed so certain but it didn’t seem quite right to Bucky. He knew what a queer was, knew it was wrong for men to go around kissin’ men. But he didn’t see what that had to do with that nice lady. But he didn’t want to make Rebecca more upset so he dropped it.

Still, he learned that night that most people didn’t really get it. Mrs. Rogers had been smarter than he thought to understand that being a lady wasn’t about your body. Most people hadn’t figured that out. Bucky felt smart for understanding something adults didn’t know even though he was only nine. Clearly Bucky was the smartest kid in the world.

* * *

Steve was two years older than Bucky but it always felt like he was trailing after him. Not just ‘cause he was smaller, but because Bucky always did everything first. Bucky was ahead a grade in school and Steve was always bad at lessons because he missed so many days being sick. So Bucky was the first one to learn his times tables. And Bucky was the first one to play baseball with the older kids. Bucky was the first one to punch a kid in the nose (although Steve was assuredly the first one to get punched). And when Steve was fifteen Bucky was the first one to get kissed.

He’d been mooning after Alice Flannery for months. She was a few months older than him and tall for a girl, taller’n Bucky. Usually Steve and Bucky would walk home together after school and then hang around until dinner time. It was a fun time plus walking together meant Steve was less likely to get hassled by the other boys in his class. Still when Bucky asked if Steve would mind him skipping out to walk Alice home after school Steve just shoved his shoulder good-naturedly and said he didn’t need no chaperone to his apartment. It was worth it to see Bucky come skidding up to him halfway home, panting from the run and grinning. He’d tell Steve all about what Alice had been wearing that day and how he’d introduced himself to her mother at the door.

Bucky was a charmer. Everyone liked him well enough although he wasn’t best buds with anyone in his class. Steve suspected that was his influence, everyone knew they were best friends and no one wanted to get too chummy with Steve Rogers’ friend. Still, Alice seemed charmed by Bucky’s looks and the easy way he led a conversation.

Steve knew there’d be consequences of not walking with Buck and mostly he managed to avoid the bullies by skipping out of class a few minutes early when the teacher’s back was turned. It wasn’t like he was learning anything he couldn’t get by reading library books on the weekends. But apparently Mrs. Gibbins had cottoned on and she held him after class one day to scold him and give him a note to take home to his mother. When he got out he ran right into a group of three boys from his class, each at least half a head taller than him and much heavier.

“Fellas.” he said, heart sinking.

The fight was quick and messy, if it could be called a fight at all. Steve threw a few punches but he wasn’t honestly sure any of them landed. He was left with a split lip, a bruise on his cheek and an ache in his hip from a bad fall. He refused to limp so he just walked, very slowly, home.

When he got there Bucky wasn’t waiting outside his door which was strange but lucky. It meant Steve had time to wash the dirt off his face and change his mussed clothes. He was just glad he hadn’t gotten any tears in his pants. It was starting to get dark out and the street lamps were being lit outside. Steve decided to light only the one lamp for now and maybe Bucky wouldn’t notice the bruise in the semi-dark.

Finally he heard the tell-tale rattle of the stairs outside as Bucky ran up them. When Steve went to get the door Bucky wasn’t grinning like usual, just looked kind of shocked and out of breath. He didn’t seem to look too closely at Steve and didn’t say anything about his face. He just took a seat on the couch and put his head in his hands.

“Holy shit.” he said, still a little out a breath. They both knew better than to swear around their mothers but they weren’t kids, they knew all the bad words by now. “Jeeze, Steve. Shit.”

“What happened?” he asked. Bucky looked up.

“Well, I went ‘n’ walked Alice home like usual. Except when we got there she said her ma was out of town visiting some folks upstate and her dad was still workin’. So she invited me in and showed me around the house. She even showed me her room, Steve. And then I said I ought’a go only she stopped me and kissed me.” And now he was grinning but still looked kind of dazed. “Holy crap, Steve it was incredible. She was soft all over and her lips tasted real sweet. I’m not sure I really did it right, not havin’ kissed anyone before but holy smokes that was something.”

Steve felt achy and small and hurt. But he smiled for Buck and told him congratulations and not to let it go to his head.

“It was fantastic, Steve. You’ve gotta try it sometime.” Bucky said, laughing.

“Oh yeah, I never thought of that. Clearly she didn’t kiss the stupid outta you.” Steve said and he managed to not sound bitter. He was happy for Bucky. He was. But it was also scary. Bucky was movin’ ahead, leaving Steve behind. And Steve was just stuck, staring after him with some nameless feeling in his gut.

The next day he didn’t avoid the boys after class, just waited behind the school for them to find him. This time he knew he got a few good punches in and even though he came out the worse for the fight he knew they’d have at least one black eye in the group. It made the pain almost satisfying, knowing he’d given a little bit of it back.

After they’d grown tired of kicking him around Steve lay on the ground panting for awhile, staring up at the clear blue sky. He didn’t hear footsteps but a shadow suddenly fell over his face and he flinched. But it was just a little girl, probably in 2nd or 3rd grade waiting for an older sibling or a mother to walk her home.

“Why’d you let ‘em do that?” she asked, still looking down at him. Clearly she’d seen the whole scuffle.

“I didn’t let ‘em do anything. They wanted to hurt me and I tried to stop them.”

“But you could’a run away or avoided them or told a teacher or, or anything. You let ‘em hurt you.” she accused. Steve knew she was right in a way. This time he had invited the fight.

“Because you’ve gotta show bullies you’re not afraid of them. You’ve got to show ‘em that they’re not as strong and righteous as they think they are. And pain is a small price to pay for setting some bullies straight.”

She didn’t look like she believed him but she helped him up anyway.

“What if they don’t learn?”

“Then you keep trying to teach ‘em until one of you wins.”

“But why?” she asked, frowning.

“Because some things are worth fighting for,” he said, and made sure the little girl got to her mother before walking home.

His body hurt worse than it did before the fight but he felt better. He might be weak and sickly. He might be all messed up and teetering on the edge of getting left behind. But he wasn’t a bully and he knew what was what. He knew the important stuff. He knew what was right and what was wrong and sometimes other people didn’t see too clearly on that. Sometimes other people thought something was wrong when it wasn’t. Somehow, that gave him hope.

* * *

Bucky had always kind of hung onto the idea that when he grew up, if he really wanted to, he could be a lady. It didn’t seem to matter that he wasn’t a little girl like his sisters, because Mrs. Rogers had said being a lady was about choices. He hung onto that although he didn’t actively think about it much, just quietly reassured himself that when he was older he could be a lady.

But when he was fourteen he hit a growth spurt. He shot up to taller than Steve again and overnight his shoulders broadened and his voice deepened. He didn’t need to shave yet but his father, on one of his rare leaves at home, showed him how. Because he was becoming a man. He didn’t really know what that meant. He had seen his father rarely growing up, when he had time off from the army. He didn’t know any other men very well. He knew the odd neighbor and the shopkeepers on their block but he didn’t know what made them men. Whereas he knew ladies. He knew his mother and Mrs. Rogers and his mother’s friends who came over for lunch every Saturday. They were all married and had children; they always looked after their families and went to church every Sunday. They were proper ladies.

But Bucky wasn’t going to be a lady apparently, he was going to be a man. At first this worried him. He would stand in front of the mirror and slick his hair back and look at himself. He would look down at his hands, much larger than they had been a few months ago. He examined his not-so-knobbly knees and the hair that had grown at the base of his prick looking for a clue about what this meant. Eventually he decided he liked his broader chest, liked the silky feeling of his sparse chest hair, liked his dick and his slow-growing stubble. He liked his hipbones and his cheekbones and his fingers. Maybe being a man wouldn’t be too bad.

* * *

Steve’s body had been betraying him for as long as he could remember. His back ached all the time, some days so bad he couldn’t even make the four blocks to school. Other days his heart would act up and walking to the bathroom would set his pulse beating erratic and ugly. Some days it wasn’t any one thing, he was just tired from the moment he opened his eyes, weak and out of breath with blurred vision. His left ear was bad and he couldn’t see all the colors he was supposed to. And in the winter he couldn’t go three weeks without coming down with something that left him coughing or feverish or both.

He was used to so much of it. Used to being weak and in pain, used to struggling with even the simplest tasks on the bad days. But it still hurt, still felt soul-sucking and awful. And having a best friend like Bucky was both a blessing and a curse. Because Bucky was wonderful. He was always there, never got tired of sitting by Steve’s bedside and talking for hours about things they were going to do and places they would like to go. He didn’t mind helping Steve around and when Steve was in pain and got snappy at him he’d just pull a face and tell him to sharpen his claws on some other shmuck. Didn’t get mad back, but didn’t put up with his shit either.

That was the good part, but the bad part was that Bucky was perfect. He was smartest kid Steve knew, always first in his class. He was handsome and charming as hell and always had been. And he was healthy as a horse. Some days Steve couldn’t help but hate him for it. But even on his worst days he knew that wasn’t totally fair, knew Bucky would do anything to even the burden if he could. So Steve’d just send him away on those days and try not to think about his steady heart and straight back and healthy goddamn body.

The point was, Steve was used to his body betraying him, letting him down. So he should have expected it to let him down like this. To start turning against him. His chest would ache when Bucky smiled. When they were sitting close together on the couch and silence momentarily fell his palms would sweat. At night when he touched himself he would stay limp and useless until his mind wandered unbidden to the pink of Bucky’s cheeks and the swell of his lips. And then he would pull his hand away quickly and lie sweating and ashamed until his erection went away.

He tried to write it off as another in the long list of things wrong with his body. Just add it to the bottom of the list of ailments: asthma, high blood pressure, anemia, scoliosis, troubled heart, queer. But it didn’t work like that. He knew being queer wasn’t something that happened in your body, wasn’t a quirk of genetics and birth. It was something you did, a perversion of the mind.

And the truth was he thought about it. He thought about kissing Bucky, about holding his hand, about curling up together on his too-small bed and sharing the same air. He didn’t want to feel like this. He wanted to be normal and to love Bucky like a brother and to never think about the curve of his wrist as he motioned with his hands.

That was when he tried to make himself stop drawing Bucky. Stop with the doodles in the margins of his school papers, stop sketching Buck whenever he could get him to sit still, just stop. He couldn’t bear to look at Bucky for that long. Couldn’t bear to see what kind of perverted version of his best friend would spring from his pencil. If Bucky noticed he didn’t say anything, just kept on saying nice things about whatever else Steve could make himself draw.

Still every day he’d catch himself glancing Bucky’s way, catch his fingers itching for his sketchbook. But he was used to his body betraying him.

* * *

Bucky’s uncle was a tailor and when Bucky was fifteen he got a job as his assistant. At first this mostly consisted of keeping the sewing machines working properly, carrying material to and fro and keeping the customers happy while his uncle was dealing with someone else. He liked the work although he wished he could work the sewing machines himself. His ma had taught him how to sew by hand, saying every young man should know how to darn his own socks, but the things his uncle could do with a sewing machine were amazing. After a few months Bucky was allowed to do simpler mending jobs and hemming but anything more complicated than that went to his uncle.

Working there meant he learned all about the latest styles: what skirts women wanted, what type of lapel was suitable for what occasion. He learned what kind of style looked best on what body type. And, most importantly, he got a discount on any material he wanted to buy and permission to use the machines on his own projects after hours as long as he locked up when he was done.

The plan had been growing in his mind more or less since his mother had mentioned possibly working with his uncle. The thing was, he hadn’t tried on Rebecca’s dresses in years but he still lay awake sometimes thinking about the feeling of lace twirling around his ankles. So Bucky knew what he needed and he was good at finding ways to get what he wanted.

He knew he had to be careful. No one could know it was for him. He bought twice the material he needed and cut two sets of pieces-one in his size and one in Rebecca’s-so when his uncle asked he could tell him honestly that he was makin’ a dress for his sister’s birthday (which was in a few months) and that it was gonna be a big surprise. The style was rather dated but he knew it would better suit his sister’s taller, willowy frame and his flat chest. He had never tried anything this complicated so he made lots of mistakes at first, had to undo lots of seams because they didn’t lie right. It took him almost a month of staying late and swearing over the damn sewing machine before he finally completed them both.

[They](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/35800000/1920s-fashion-vintage-35897668-386-500.jpg) were simple: turquoise with a white collar and white cuffs on short sleeves with buttons down the front and a loose waistband. They fell to just past the knee and he was utterly in love with them.

He hid them both under his bed and told the girls not to go snooping because there were presents under there. Rebecca loved surprises so he knew that would be enough to keep her out. He knew that wouldn’t fix the issue in the long run but he had a plan for that.

Four people and an occasional fifth probably didn’t sound like much but in a two bedroom apartment it was cramped and meant there was almost never a time during the day when Bucky could be home by himself. He thought about faking sick and staying home from school but he knew his mother would leave off her work washing and mending in order to make him feel better. The guilt would be too much. But, he finally decided, Sunday would be perfect. If he played just the right amount to sick, a little nauseous but not throwing up, a little warm but not running a high fever, his mother would let him stay home but wouldn’t stay home herself. Then he could sleep away the day and be ‘recovered’ by Monday. It was perfect.

The second Sunday after finishing the dresses Buck woke up feeling like a lady. She got up quietly and set some water to heat on the stove. When the water was almost too hot to bear she splashed it on her face, turning it red and blotchy and overheated. Then she knocked on her mother’s door.

“Ma,” she whispered when her mother came to the door, trying not to wake her sisters, “I’m not feeling so hot. I got up thinkin’ I might be sick just now. I didn’t but I still feel like I might.”

“Hmm,” her mother hummed, and tested her forehead with her hand as Bucky’d known she would, “oh dear, sweetheart you’re running a fever. You should probably stay home from church. I don’t want you getting anyone in the congregation ill.”

“You sure, ma? I think I could probably go.”

“No dear, go back to bed and we’ll wake you for lunch when we get back.”

“Okay.” Bucky said, hiding her glee and going back to bed. She pretended to be asleep when her sisters started rousing and waved them away when they tried to wake her up.

Finally, after what felt like a terribly long time, she heard the front door shut and the house was silent. Now she had at least two hours to herself. She quickly shed the bed covers, closed all the curtains and gathered her supplies. The dress from under her bed, Rebecca’s slip from the cupboard, her mother’s lipstick, her sister’s blush and mascara. She thought about borrowing Rebecca’s underthings but she didn’t feel right wearing them and she didn’t want to risk stretching them around her larger frame. Besides, the way the dress was cut it didn’t really need any padding in the front.

She put the slip on first, revelling in the silky smooth feel of it against her chest and legs. She used her sister’s hand mirror to put on her makeup, ever so carefully drawing in her lips with the dark red lipstick and barely avoiding poking herself in the eye with the mascara brush. Then dashes of rouge on her cheeks and she was beginning to look… not like someone else, but like a different version of herself. She raked her hair forward so it hung in front of her eyes and then carefully rolled it onto a curler. She didn’t have enough time to let the curl really set but she had enough hair that she could practically obscure the roll underneath. She pinned it in place and reached for her dress.

Her hands were steady as she did up the buttons but her heart was racing. She tied the bow at the neck and picked up the hand mirror, holding it far away as she could. She could only see bits and pieces but it was enough to construct herself in her mind.

She put the mirror down, closed her eyes and just felt it all over. The collar settled, a comforting weight against her collarbones and the waistline brushed her belly just above her hips. The skirt swung silky and free around her legs. Her lips were tacky with lipstick and she felt… beautiful.

She just walked around the apartment for a bit, feeling the dress move with her as she sat down and stood up. She even danced around to some imagined music. She made herself breakfast and pretended that she was about to set off for a game of cards with the ladies. Even the smallest task felt right like this, felt natural and effortless like everything was easier.

Too soon her time began to run out. She dallied as long as she dared but in the end she had to take off her dress, scrub her face and lips and return all her supplies to their proper place. Then she got back into bed and lay, feeling light and airy like she’d just float away. Bucky drifted back to sleep wondering when she’d be able to do it again.


	2. 1937-1938

Steve was nineteen when his mother died. His mother died and everything changed. He and his ma had pretty much managed to scrape by. His mother’s nursing wages plus his occasional odd job had paid rent and food. He knew his mother had had to beg and borrow to pay for his doctor on a few occasions and he’d been wearing Bucky’s hand-me-downs for years. But they had got by and his mother had even scraped together enough to send him to art school. After her death it was different.

Steve had to drop out of school to look for work. He couldn’t find any full time jobs so he got two or three jobs working a few hours each. It was enough to pay rent on the apartment but just barely and food became an issue. It was fall and he couldn’t afford the heating so he was cold most of the time. Although it killed him to do it, he ended up selling most of his mother’s jewelry along with the now unnecessary second bed. But he kept her clothes and her wedding ring. He couldn’t bear to sleep in her room so he kept the bed in the living room.

He knew Bucky worried about him. Bucky offered to let Steve move in with his family at least once a week but Steve wouldn’t hear of it. He was also always bringing over dinner or telling him about a possible job he’d heard about. And Steve was proud but he was also desperate so he didn’t snap, didn’t tell Bucky to knock it off, that he could do it on his own. He just said “thank you” and kept trying his best.

But the thing was, he was angry. He was angry at himself that he hadn’t been able to afford the best medicine for his mother. He was angry with himself when he realized he’d have to give up the apartment he’d grown up in and find a place that was more affordable. He was mad at the shopkeepers who didn’t think he would work hard just because he was small. He was mad at the government for how few jobs there were. He was angry at Bucky for trying to be there for him when all he wanted to do was make it on his own. He was so filled with rage he thought it would burn right through him.

He started taking the long way home, going down the back alleys and through the bad neighborhoods. He would try to break up fights, would get into arguments with drunk men who were talkin’ too loud. He would linger outside bars to make sure no women were getting hassled. He knew it was stupid and dangerous, knew he was no hero, single-handedly cleaning up the streets of Brooklyn. He lost more than one job because he came to work with a black eye. Bucky would look sad and disapproving as he helped him clean up after. But Steve couldn’t help it; there was something angry and nasty simmering in his veins and if he didn’t do something about it it would eat right through him.

It had been nearly three months since his mother died when he finally found a place that would take him. It was one large room and it had a shared bathroom just like his old place but in a worse part of town. It was cheaper though and he thought as long as he didn’t get sick and kept all his jobs and didn’t need new shoes he could manage to pay the rent and buy himself a whole three meals a day. It didn’t feel like a victory though, it felt like a defeat. He had to move his stuff in by Monday so he talked to his current landlord and went up to start packing.

Bucky was already there. He had a tendency to let himself in and usually it didn’t bother Steve but now he found himself annoyed, wanted to say goodbye to the apartment in peace. Bucky had brought food, was sweating over something simmering on the stove. And Steve was hungry and that made him annoyed too. He hated Bucky’s charity and hated himself for needing it. But he ate anyway and tried to be grateful.

After dinner Bucky told him about the obnoxious woman who had come into his uncle’s shop that day and her increasingly ridiculous demands. Steve didn’t listen very closely, dreading the moment when Bucky would ask him what he did that day. But it was unavoidable.

“Well, I talked to a guy down on Court Street about an apartment there. The rent’s cheaper and he seemed like a good enough guy. I’m moving in on Monday.” He looked up from his clasped hands and saw Bucky. And he just looked so relieved.

“I’m glad Steve. You really need a more affordable place.”

And Steve was suddenly furious. How dare Bucky be glad to see him leave the only place he’d ever known, the place that held all his memories of his mother? How dare Bucky congratulate him on failing to hold onto the last thing his mother had entrusted to him? He was blinding, spitting mad. He found himself crying furiously, hot tears burning his eyes as he shouted.

He didn’t even know what he said, he was just yelling through his tears, trying to show Bucky how wrong he was. Steve was a failure, he hadn’t managed to keep the apartment here, he probably wouldn’t manage to keep the new apartment once winter set in and he started getting sick. Steve was failing.

Finally his shouts died into angry sobs as he sank to the floor beside his chair. Bucky slipped out of his seat and sat next to him, hugging his shoulders even though Steve tried to shrug him off. But Bucky held on and Steve went limp, crying into Bucky’s pressed sleeve.

“Hey, hey Steve, Stevie you’re okay. You’re going to be okay. There’s nothing bad about needing to find a new place. I’ll help you box up your ma’s things and you’ll still have her clothes and stuff with you. And Steve, if you’re worried about money I’m right here. I can help if you’d just let me.” Steve bit his lip and slowly gained control of himself although his breath was still coming out in wet gasps. “Look, Stevie please let me share the place with you. I’m old enough to move out of my parent’s place and you know I’d make a good roommate. I’ll even shine your shoes. You push a real hard bargain ya know.”

Steve huffed out a teary laugh. Just then, he couldn’t imagine anything better than living with Bucky, having him there every night helping with mending and joking about his day and putting up with Steve’s shit.

“Okay Buck. Let’s do it.” he said, leaning away and wiping at his eyes with the backs of his hands.

“Yeah? Yeah. Let’s do it Rogers. We’ll be the best damn roommates, we’ll make everyone jealous, just you wait.” And then, quietly. “We’re gonna be okay Stevie. We’ll do just fine.”

And Steve was so fucking in love with his best friend, so desperate and so in love that he couldn’t help but believe him.

 

* * *

 

Living with Steve was easy. Sure, the place was kind of a shithole and Bucky had a longer walk to work. Not to mention they were surrounded by queer clubs and worse. She tried not to let Steve walk home alone after dark, partially to stop him getting into fights he couldn’t finish, partially to stop him getting mugged. Not that they had much to steal though they got by between the two of them. By the time winter rolled around Steve had earned the respect of at least a couple shopkeepers in their old neighborhood so even when he was out sick for a few weeks at a time they’d hire him back once he was on his feet. Between that and Bucky’s work at her uncle’s they did alright. They had enough money to cover Steve’s medicine which was the important thing anyway.

It was different, living with Steve. In some ways it was freeing. Bucky still shared a room and had practically no privacy. But there was a lot less to keep track of. When Steve was at work Bucky knew no one else would be coming home to interrupt her when she was lazing around in makeup and underwear. The fact that she wasn’t always playing the big brother to Dorothy and the little brother to Rebecca meant there were more days when she could just feel like herself. Most days she still had to put on her trousers and go to work but she knew that regardless of what she looked like on those days, she was just a lady in trousers. She imagined that her smile looked different on those days, imagined her stitches were neater and her voice was lighter. She didn’t think anyone else could tell, but she knew.

She had made her sisters dresses for their birthdays every year since she’d gotten her job with her uncle. And every time she made one for her sisters she made one for herself while she was at it. She was careful to leave hints that she was making dresses as gifts for girls at school or around the neighborhood, once she even showed Rebecca her work saying it was for a girl she liked. But then when the dress was done she’d come home dejected and told Rebecca the girl’d tried to let her down easy but had just about broken Bucky’s heart. Rebecca had comforted her and said it was alright and Bucky had, sighing sadly, stashed the dress under her bed.

She knew the excuse wouldn’t hold up if they found the whole collection but it would work if they only found one. She stashed her dresses in different places, a couple under her bed, one under each of her sisters mattresses and one in the back of the pantry behind the long-ago expired cans of beans. She had felt cool as could be, like a spy from a film.

That had been before she’d moved in with Steve though. Now she didn’t have to worry about her nosy family stumbling over them, only had to watch out for Steve. And Steve was good at keeping to himself. He never snooped or looked over Bucky’s shoulder as he read, just sorted their things into separate piles and then stuck to only his. And of course neither of them ever touched the boxes containing Mrs. Rogers things. That last was so convenient that Bucky couldn’t pass up the opportunity but she also couldn’t bear to just put her own dresses in among Mrs. Rogers’; it was too disrespectful. So she just added a little box on top of those containing Mrs. Rogers’ things with her own supplies.

Her supplies, that was another thing. Not living at home anymore meant she couldn’t just borrow her sisters’ and her mother’s things so when she’d moved out she had carefully taken her mother’s least liked lipstick, an almost empty tube of mascara and Rebecca’s slip with a tear in the side which she’d never miss. Those things were hers now and she loved her little box of lady things.

Her uncle’s shop was usually closed on Mondays and that was when they got most of their alterations done for the coming week. Since Bucky had been working there for a few years now she was allowed to do more tricky work which she enjoyed immensely. But the second Monday in January Bucky’s uncle told her to go home early because they’d been pretty slow the week before and he could take care of all the sewing himself. Usually Bucky would have insisted that she stay and help him finish quicker but she’d been feeling feminine all weekend and her skin had itched that morning when she put on her trousers and shirt and suspenders. So she thanked her uncle and walked quickly home.

Steve had been working for Mr. Collins as a bookkeeper for a few weeks now and Mr. Collins usually kept him until at least 6:30 which gave Bucky six hours before she had to get dressed to get Steve and walk him home. She had a well-worn routine now. She knew how to use one of their shinier pans to put on her makeup. And she felt like wearing her [latest dress](http://40.media.tumblr.com/5b27abb16b8e6aed4f669f93ad6df6c4/tumblr_nllbmv1r1K1ru9jk4o1_400.jpg), which was one of her favorites.

Then she made herself a sandwich for lunch and curled up on the couch with a novel. She never smoked because even traces on her clothes had always bothered Steve’s lungs. But somehow when she was all dolled up her fingers always itched for a cigarette so she’d really look like one of the dames in the movies.

She had just finished her book and was getting up to see if Steve had any more she hadn’t read yet on his bedside table when she heard the sound of feet on the stairs outside. It was the middle of the day, no one would be visiting. Maybe it was just someone going up to the floors above theirs. But the footsteps stopped at their landing and with a sudden aching dread she heard the sound of the key scraping in the lock.

 

* * *

 

Steve had known when he woke up that morning that it was not a good day. His back ached and his throat was sore. His eyes felt dry and chalky. Steve knew the signs by now: he was getting sick. But there was no point staying in bed, he wasn’t feeling too bad yet and he had to get as much work done as he could before he was bedridden. He and Bucky walked the few blocks they had in common before they branched off to their separate jobs.

He started feeling worse as soon as he got to the factory. He wasn’t doing any hard labor, just bookkeeping but the back room where he worked still stank of hot metal. Right before lunch he went up to deliver his report to Mr. Collins but by that time he was wheezing and his nose was running. Mr. Collins took one look at him and told Steve to head on home. He tried to protest-he needed the money-but Mr. Collins was hearing none of it so Steve packed up his stuff and started the walk home.

It took him longer than usual because he had to stop every other block to gasp through his mouth. His runny nose along with his asthma meant he felt like he was drowning in his own head. But eventually he made it home. He usually got back later than Bucky on Mondays so he knew he’d have some explaining to do when Bucky got home around 4 but for now he was going to go back to sleep. As he slowly slogged up the stairs he was already imagining his bed. In his mind the sheets were magically still as warm as they had been when he got up this morning. He dug his key out of his pocket and opened the door.

His first thought was ‘shoot, Bucky’s already home’ because Steve would recognize Bucky no matter what. But in the next second he took in what Bucky looked like. He was wearing a dress, and his face and hair was done up like a dame’s. Steve glanced around, wondering if this was a prank of some kind but no one jumped out to laugh at Steve’s no doubt dumbfounded face. In fact, Bucky looked a bit ill. Slowly Steve stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him.

“Hey Buck.” he said hesitantly.

Bucky seemed to come unfrozen from where he stood in the middle of the room. He walked over to the little table they ate dinner at and collapsed into one of the chairs.

“Steve.” Bucky said weakly. “I’m- It’s n- I…”

Steve had seen fellas in dresses before. Living in a neighborhood like theirs it was impossible not to. There were queer bars and drag balls and all sorts of unsavory establishments but this was different. This was Bucky.

“Bucky, you’re wearing a dress.” he said finally because it had to be said.

“I know.” Bucky said, clenching his jaw and staring straight at Steve.

“Are you- are you a queer?” Steve asked. Before this moment he would have said there was no one less queer than Bucky Barnes but now...

“No,” he said decisively. “I’m not queer. This ain’t a sex thing. It’s a- it’s a me thing.”

“I don’t know what that means, Buck.”

“It’s just… sometimes I’m a lady. Like, on the inside. Mostly I’m a man but sometimes I feel like a woman so I dress up like I am one ‘cause, you know, it feels right.” Bucky looked a bit like he had at Steve’s ma’s funeral, like he wanted to cry but wouldn’t because he was being strong for Steve’s sake.

“But, I’ve seen you Bucky, you’ve got a- a-”

“A prick? Yeah,” Bucky said hotly, “So what? You don’t go lookin’ up a lady’s skirt before you call her ma’am, do ya? What’s my body got to do with what’s inside? It’s like you.”

“What?” Steve asked, heart speeding up. Did Bucky know? Did Bucky know he-

“Well, you’re a little guy, you know and people look at you and think you’re weak. But I know on the inside you’re not. On the inside you’re the strongest, biggest, bravest fella I ever met. So when I look at you I don’t see a little guy, I see that big guy you are on the inside. I’m like that, except sometimes the fella inside is a lady.”

Steve’s thoughts stumbled for a minute, caught up on Bucky calling him strong and brave. But then he thought about the other part and actually it made a lot of sense.

“So sometimes you feel like a dame.”

“Yeah.”

“And right now you’re dressed up like that ‘cause you feel like a dame?”

“Yeah.”

Steve thought about it for a moment longer.

“Okay.” he said simply.

“What?” Bucky said, looking surprised.

“Okay, Buck. You’re my best friend, always have been. If sometimes you want to dress up like a dame, ‘cause that what makes you feel like your outsides match your insides I’m still gonna like you just the same, gal or guy.” Really, Steve couldn’t think of a single thing Bucky could do that would make Steve love him- her, any less.

“You mean it? You’re not mad? You’re- you’re not gonna kick me out?” she looked hopeful but still a little shocked.

“‘Course not! What kind of a crap friend d’ya think I am? Clearly you didn’t leave all the stupid in your pants pocket.” Bucky huffed a laugh. “I love you, Buck. No matter what.”

She sighed, scrubbed her hands over her face although Steve hadn’t actually seen any tears. And then she looked up.

“You damn well better love me, ya punk. All the shit I put up with.” She was smiling now, small but real.

“Jerk.” Steve said, smiling right back at her.

 

* * *

 

Bucky was a little surprised by how little changed once Steve knew. Most days they still went about their day as normal, work and the occasional film. Bucky’d go out with a dame or they’d go out together if she had a friend for Steve. He still liked shining his shoes and fussin’ with his hair before a date, love the feeling of a well-ironed shirt. It made him feel good, handsome in a totally different way.

But now when Bucky felt like it they’d stay in Bucky would put on one of her dresses and they’d eat dinner and afterward Steve would draw while Bucky read aloud to him. But even then it wasn’t really different. Steve would watch her sometimes when she put on her makeup but it didn’t feel like ogling. He was just interested, he had an artist’s eye. Steve even asked to draw her a few times which was nice, it was almost like having a full-length mirror, getting to look at herself all done up in Steve’s sketchpad. Steve asked her if she wanted to be called something else when she was a girl.

“Nah,” she said, “I’m still me. I still like Bucky. But maybe you could call me ‘doll’ once and while or something like that.” Steve agreed and whenever she heard it she shivered all over with how perfect it sounded.

Their little hand-me-down radio broke in February but Steve managed to scrape enough together to buy another one from the pawn shop for Bucky’s birthday in March. That year her birthday fell on a Saturday. Usually Bucky went over to have dinner with her family on her birthday but this year she suggested they just do it on Sunday after church instead, that way she and Steve had the day to themselves and she could doll herself up and bake a little cake for herself. Steve offered to do it but he wasn’t much of a cook and she didn’t want to end up eating a blackened hunk of a cake.

After eating Steve put a newspaper-wrapped package on the table. Bucky’d caught sight of it under Steve’s bed the other day and the shape kind of gave it away but she still patiently waited until she opened it to thank him for the radio. Steve looked sheepish and told her the volume knob was missing so you had to stick a finger into the hole to turn it up. She said it didn’t matter. Then Steve went a little red and pulled out another tiny wrapped box.

“Aww Steve, you didn’t have’ta do that. The radio was more than enough.”

“I know. But this one’s little. I just thought you might like it.”

Bucky unwrapped it carefully and her mouth dropped open when she saw it was a box of black nylons. She’d eyed them in the store for years but never dared buy a box. She knew it’d be easy to say they were for her sister but she’d always felt the clerk would know somehow.

“Steve,” she said, voice soft, “They’re perfect. Thank you.” Steve went red and shrugged. “I’m going to put them on.” she said, excited as Steve got up to start doing dishes.

The fabric made her feet feel small and dainty as she pulled them on. They rustled quietly as they glided over her soft leg hair, then up under her skirt and over her thighs. She didn’t have a garter to keep them up but she pulled them up as high as they went and dropped her shift and dress back down. She felt amazing. She spun over to Steve where he stood elbow deep in soapy water. She pulled the skirt up teasingly to show off her legs.

“Goddamn, Steve look at them. They’re wonderful.”

Steve glanced over and gave a small genuine smile.

“I’m glad you like them. You look great.”

“Steve,” she said grabbing a dishtowel and tugging on Steve’s elbow. “Leave the dishes.”

“What? Why?” he said as she dried his hands.

“Because you’re gonna dance with me.” she said matter of factly. Steve was passable at dancing. ‘Cause of his asthma he couldn’t really get into it the way she did, couldn’t swing girls around and dance until sweat was dripping down his neck. But he could manage the slower songs. She led him into the little space in the middle of the room between the table and the beds and then left him there to turn on the radio. It took her a minute but she found a suitable song, soft and slow.

Really she needed heels but she towered over Steve as it was so she didn’t mind bein’ bare foot. She let Steve lead and he moved slow and careful. His body was stiff and he kept glancing down to make sure he wasn’t stepping on her toes. After half a song of this she laughed quietly.

“No wonder girls don’t keep you dancin’ all night long. Stevie, you’ve gotta relax.”

“Aw hell, Buck, you know I’m no good with a pretty dame.”

“You think I’m pretty?” she asked, voice breathy and surprised. Steve didn’t usually have much of an opinion on the girls they went out with.

“Of course. You’re the prettiest girl I know.”

A lot of things ran through Bucky’s head in that moment. She thought of every time Steve had watched her put on her makeup. Every time he’d called her doll. The way he’d blushed when she’d shown off her nylons.

“Steve,” she said, taking her hand off his shoulder and pulling his chin up to look at her. “Steve.” And then she leaned down and kissed him.

His lips were chapped and still under hers but she pressed forward insistently. Suddenly Steve’s hand at her waist clutched at her and he began to move. The kiss was slow and sweet, both of them breaking off for a second only to come back and brush their lips together again. Finally Steve pulled back, breathing a little hard.

“Wow.” he said. “Shit, Bucky.” He ducked his head, licking his lips. Then he looked back up at her. “I- I thought you said you weren’t queer?” he asked hesitantly.

Bucky frowned, her dress suddenly feeling too small around her waist.

“What’s queer about a dame kissin’ a man?” she asked, caught between confusion and annoyance.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said, quickly, “sorry, that was stupid of me. Sorry.” He looked like he genuinely felt bad and if Bucky had one weakness it was that she could never stay mad at Steve when he was sorry for something.

“It’s okay. Anyway, Steve, what’d you expect callin’ a girl pretty like that? She’d be stupid not to kiss you.”

“I would’a told you how pretty you were long before now if I knew that’d happen.” he said, blushing but meeting her gaze.

“Yeah?” she said, cocking her head. “Try it again ‘n’ see what happens.”

Steve swallowed.

“Bucky, you’re just about the prettiest dame I ever laid eyes on.” He’d barely gotten out the words before she was kissing him again, this time deeper. It was still slow but more thorough and heated. She dug both hands into his hair and held him close. He let out a little bitten off groan. Her heart was thumping loudly in her chest and she felt like she could do anything. Steve settled feather-light hands on her hips.

Carefully she took a step backward towards her bed, seeing if Steve would follow. He did, crowding close to her every time she moved away. She rolled his lower lip between her teeth and he gasped. She took the opportunity to slide her tongue into his mouth. She wanted to taste him.

Finally they reached the bed, although she didn’t really notice until the frame hit the back of her knees. They broke off, both of them panting this time.

“Steve?” she said, hands cupping his face. “Do you want to do this?”

“Yes.” he said, eyes steady and sure on hers. “I want to.”

She reached for the hem of her dress and carefully drew it over her head. Her shift went with it and she suddenly felt very naked in just her nylons and underwear. She was clearly hard, erection pushing up against her underwear. Steve’s eyes raked over her but then came back to her face.

“You’re beautiful.” he said and she felt warm all the way through her.

She pushed his suspenders off his shoulders and then reached for his shirt buttons. His own hands started on his belt. When she finished with his shirt he sat down on the bed briefly to take off his shoes and socks. Then he stood up and shucked his pants leaving him in just his shorts. She saw him changing often enough, his body wasn’t a surprise to her. She knew the way his ribs stood out along his chest, the dainty shape of his hands and the knobbly bones of his knees. Still it felt different now. This wasn’t just her best friend Steve, this was a man who wanted her, was going to see her naked and touch her.

She kissed him again, wet and heated. He pulled her full lower lip between his teeth and bit it so gently. She moaned and they broke apart long enough to lie on the bed. Bucky was on her back and Steve settled himself over her and they went back to kissing. Her hands wandered down Steve’s back and settled on his ass, pulling him closer so they could grind together. Steve gasped into her neck at the pressure and then kissed just below her ear. He trailed kisses down her neck until he got to her collarbone where he sucked gently, worrying the skin between his teeth.

“Off, off.” she said, tugging at his shorts and he quickly squirmed out of them.

“Can I- can I suck you off?” he asked, breath coming out with a slight wheeze.

“Yeah, yeah just, go slow.” she said and Steve nodded and then returned to her neck. He peppered kisses down her, stopping to suck gently on one sensitive nipple while his hand played with the other.

“Steve, fuck.” she said, voice trailing into a groan.

As he kissed his way over her belly his hands pulled her nylons and underwear down and off her legs. He nosed at the trail of hair leading down to her cock. She wished a little in that moment that she didn’t have a dick, that Steve was about to lick into her. She wished it was as easy to pull on different parts as it was to wear different clothes. But Steve licked a stripe up her cock and the moment passed.

She cupped the back of his head, not guiding just resting her hand as he gently took her into his mouth. He was so careful, teeth covered and mouth soft as it stretched around the head. He tongued the slit then slid down further taking more of her into his mouth. One hand wrapped around the part of her cock he couldn’t fit in his mouth, the other gently cupped her balls. She shivered all over as he slowly developed a rhythm.

He was wet and sloppy, saliva running down her shaft but enthusiastic, tongue swirling around the head. He had to stop a few times, just holding her in his mouth as he breathed rapidly through his nose. She waited, gently stroking his hair out of his eyes and whispering “Steve, Steve.” She didn’t know if he could hear her over his own breathing, his hearing wasn’t the best sometimes but he looked up through his lashes at her and she grinned down at him.

And then he was back at it, head bobbing and hand moving in time. She could feel her muscles tightening all over as her orgasm built. He sucked long and hard and she bit back a loud moan. She was sweating, out of breath and tense with pleasure. Tighter and tighter it curled inside her. She pulled at his hair just slightly, warning him but he didn’t pull away. Her other hand was fisted in the bedsheets as her orgasm rocked through her. She curled inward around Steve’s head as her cock pulsed into his mouth. He tried to swallow all of it but a little bit leaked out around his lips.

She collapsed back onto the bed, all the tension draining out of her as the last aftershocks tingled through her. For a moment she just lay there panting, mind foggy and dazed. Then she felt more than heard Steve’s little moan. She propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at him. His mouth was resting on her inner thigh and his eyes were squeezed shut. She could see his arm moving as he jerked himself.

“Steve, let me.” she said, cupping his cheek. But it was too late, he groaned into her skin and went still. After a minute she pulled him up the bed and kissed his warm, puffy lips. She could taste herself on him and it made her shiver. When she pulled away Steve’s breaths were loud and wheezy. “Hey, hey you okay Stevie?” she asked.

He just pressed his forehead to her collarbone and nodded weakly. They lay there as he slowly got his breathing under control. As the sweat cooled the room began to feel chilly again. She maneuvered them so she could pull the blankets out from under them and cover them up. Steve rolled onto his side and turned around so her chest was to his back. She hooked an arm around his middle and kissed the last knob of his spine.

She was sure in the morning they would have to discuss this, figure out what it meant for them. But for now she just drifted to sleep listening to Steve’s steady, reedy breaths.

 

* * *

 

Being with Bucky was easy. She still teased him, still made sure Steve cooked dinner half the time because it was fair, still listened to the radio while he sketched her. Except now at the end of the nights they fell into the same bed, made each other laugh and come and slept pressed against one another.

But it was still hard not being with Bucky. Hard to wake up to Bucky already dressed in his shirt and trousers, hair perfectly combed and greased when all Steve wanted to do was pull him back to bed for a good morning kiss. It was hard to only know what Bucky tasted like with lipstick on. And Steve loved her, he did. But Steve also loved him. Loved his stubble and his old undershirts with holes in the hem, loved the way he laughed when they were out with other people, deep and throaty. When she was dolled up she laughed high and light and it wasn’t quite the same. And Steve loved both sides of Bucky but the truth was he’d known the boy a lot longer and it still hurt not to be able to touch him. Maybe hurt even worse now.

Because Bucky had been pretty clear. As a gal she liked fellas, as a guy he liked girls. To someone else what they were doing might look queer but it wasn’t, not really. And it was strange, after being ashamed of being queer for so long to think maybe he wasn’t all queer. Because he loved a girl, even loved the girly things about her, thought all the time about how beautiful she was and how much he wished he could take her out dancing. But was that because she was a girl or because she was Bucky? Steve didn’t know what to think.

But it ate at him, having to play the boyfriend and the best friend at the same time. He started to pull away from Bucky when he got chummy. Steve would shrug him off if Bucky threw an arm around his neck. He’d push away the helping hands when he came home from a scrape. He’d sit a little further away on the couch so they weren’t pressed up together from shoulder to ankle. He couldn’t help it, he was just so scared he’d make a mistake. It was easy before, to just shut off the part of himself that loved Bucky, to not look, not touch, not think about it. But now he knew he could touch, could look but only sometimes. He tried to tell himself it was better than nothing, most days he believed it.

Bucky still went out on dates, still set Steve up whenever he could. But Bucky was careful to keep it casual with girls. He never went home with them. When they were out together he rarely even gave the girl a kiss goodnight. He still loved dancing, still loved turning up the charm and making a girl hang off his arm. But he never went out with the same girl more than twice, never got starry-eyed and dopey over her. And Steve didn’t know what that meant. Were they going steady? He didn’t dare ask but was silently thankful every night Bucky came home from a date alone.

Summer came and Steve was finally able to hold down a job for more than three weeks at a time. He saved up his money carefully, begging off when Bucky suggested they go out for ice cream or to the movies. He bought Bucky a little vial of nail polish, some hair spray and a mini-bottle of perfume from the drugstore. Then he felt silly, hid them for a few days worrying Bucky would somehow take it the wrong way. But after a couple days he shook it off. Bucky had always been free with little gifts, giving Steve baseball cards and comics and sketching pencils whenever he felt like it. The only reason Steve hadn’t done the same was because he couldn’t afford it. Now that he could he was just getting little gifts for a friend, Bucky’d see that.

She loved them. Steve realized too late that he didn’t buy polish remover but Bucky just laughed and painted her toenails, sayin’ she wouldn’t go swimming until they could buy some remover. The hair spray let her try more styles, rolls and waves and curls. Steve told her he liked each one more than the last and she just called him a hopeless flatterer.

“What good’re you if you won’t give me your honest opinion?”

“Alright you’re a hag, you finally wrung it out of me,” he said, dryly. She smacked him upside the head, laughing.

But more than that, Steve started fingering his ma’s wedding ring where he kept it on a chain around his neck, guiltily thinking about his ma’s jewelry packed away in one of those boxes. He knew his mother, knew she loved Bucky almost as much as Steve did. She wouldn’t have minded Bucky having some of her old things. But how would Bucky take it? It was one thing to give a girl some beauty products she didn’t have, it was another to give her some of your ma’s jewelry. But Steve couldn’t stop thinking about it, so one night when Bucky was working late on a special order at work Steve opened up the boxes containing his mother’s things.

Everything still smelled like her and it made his heart clench unpleasantly. Even with how good things were going with Bucky, he still missed his ma every day. Carefully he went through her things, setting aside her medicine books and her clothes. He paused over some things that she had worn most often or trinkets she’d kept on the shelf over her bed. He could still see her room in his mind’s eye, just as it had been. Finally he got to her jewelry.

The Rogers family never had a lot of money, even when his dad was alive. They were immigrants and so much of their money had been spent on the passage over and on setting themselves up in their new home. His father hadn’t been able to afford an engagement ring when they got married, but his mother still had a few nice things. A locket with a picture of his father and of him as a baby. A gold cross that she had worn most often. He set these both aside. Then he found a single string of glass pearls that he hadn’t seen in years. She used to wear them to church on special occasions but she’d stopped, saying they were too ostentatious. These he held onto. He passed over the few sets of earrings she had since Bucky’s ears weren’t pierced. But he pulled out a matching pearl bracelet. That was all his mother had had. Slowly Steve packed her things away again and if he cried when he was done, well there were worse reasons to cry.

He waited to give Bucky the pearls. She’d told him that she made herself a dress at work whenever she made one for her sisters and Dorothy’s birthday was just around the corner. The night Bucky came home and showed him the [new dress](http://sensibility.com/vintageimages/1930s/images/30sdoublebreasted.jpg), Steve surprised her with them. They didn’t quite match the dress’ square neckline and almost military style buttons but Bucky didn’t seem to mind.

“God, Steve how’d you afford these? There’s no way you found these at a pawn shop, they’re too nice.” she asked, holding the bracelet to her wrist and admiring it.

“They’re- well, they’re my ma’s.”

She looked up at him sharply, already shaking her head.

“No, no Steve I couldn’t take your ma’s things. I couldn’t.”

“Yes.” Steve said, voice sure and firm. “You can. She, well she would’a wanted you to have them. If she’d known. You would’a been like the daughter she never had.”

Bucky looked down, staring intently at her hands as they ran over the necklace gently. Steve pretended not to notice the wet spots appearing on her dress. When she’d composed herself she nodded at him.

“Okay. Will you put them on me?” she asked.

Steve stood behind her and clasped the necklace. Then he closed the bracelet around her wrist. It wasn’t as loose on her as was fashionable, she had pretty big wrists but it fit just fine. “Thank you, Steve. And it’s not even my birthday.”

“Oh didn’t I tell ya, this is your present nine months early. Don’t expect anything from me next year.”

“Yeah right punk, like I’d let you get away with that. If this was meant to be a birthday present you should have exercised a little goddamn patience.”

“Well, you know I’m not supposed to exercise on account of my asthma.” Steve said, biting back a grin for as long as could.

“You little shit.” she said, reaching for him. But he jumped out of his chair and ran across their little apartment. She chased after him and tackled him onto her bed.

“Now, now Miss Barnes. That’s not very lady-like.” Steve said, smiling up at her.

“Oh yeah? I’ll show you lady-like.” she said and kissed him into silence.

Yeah, being with Bucky was easy.

 

* * *

 

When Bucky thought about his future as a kid it had looked pretty much like this. Him and Steve living together, holding jobs and visiting his folks at least once a week. But when he’d tried to think past that it had gotten fuzzy. Part of him imagined settling down with a nice girl, having kids and being godfather to Steve’s little ones. But another part of him, the “her” part, had imagined a white dress and a ceremony in her church, imagined going out dancing with her husband every Friday night. The first time she’d imagined this she was young enough that she hadn’t even realized there was any difficulty with this plan. As he grew up Bucky began to understand that that second option probably wasn’t going to happen. He would still think about it occasionally but mostly he focused on imagining about some knock-out walking down the aisle towards him.

And then this thing started with her and Steve and it was wonderful. It felt like having everything. She got her best friend and a lover all rolled into one. She got to be herself with someone, all the time no matter how she felt. And she got to come with her dress hiked up around her chest and her hands round both of their cocks as Steve called her ‘baby.’ She was pretty sure it didn’t get better than that.

They’d been at this for nearly six months when Bucky started to notice a change. Bucky noticed himself watching Steve as he tried awkwardly to flirt with his date, looking at the way his hands tapped on the table rhythmically. He realized some days after they’d had sex it was hard to pull himself away from Steve’s warm body. And it was strange because this happened on days when he didn’t feel like dressing up, just felt gruff and masculine. He wouldn’t feel like a girl, but he’d look over at Steve biting his lip as he drew and he’d still want to kiss him.

That didn’t make sense. Bucky wasn’t queer. Sometimes he was a dame who liked men, sometimes he was a guy who liked gals but never something like this. But the more he tried to ignore it the more it intruded.

They both got the day off for Steve’s birthday, seein’ as it was a holiday. But Bucky didn’t feel like dolling up and staying in so they went over to his family’s apartment in the morning for breakfast. When they finally got out around noon he treated them to sundaes and they ran some errands before the parade. It was hot out so Bucky unbuttoned his shirt, letting the air hit his undershirt and cool the sweat. He caught Steve eyeing a bruise he’d sucked into Bucky’s shoulder earlier in the week. Bucky winked at him and Steve blushed. God, what was he doing. He couldn’t flirt with Steve like that, not when he was feeling like a him, and definitely not in public.

After the parade they walked the darkening streets to where the fireworks were starting. The show was amazing. He’d always thought it felt right somehow that Steve was born on the 4th. Every other day of the year the whole world seemed to be against Steve, always tearing him down for being small and a spitfire. But on this one day the whole country fucking celebrated him. Bucky thought that was how it should go.

Afterwards they took the train back to their neck of the woods and let themselves into their stifling apartment. They both quickly stripped off their shirts and undershirts and Bucky opened the window but kept the curtain drawn. He didn’t know why.

They had some bread and cheese but neither of them was very hungry. Steve sat on the couch and used the lamplight from the table to sketch the East River. Bucky just watched him quietly feeling drowsy and warm. He’d given Steve his presents that morning, a new pair of shoes because he needed them and some charcoals. He knew Steve didn’t like painting or drawing with colors ‘cause of his bad eyes but he’d known charcoals would be a hit. Steve wasn’t using them now though. When Bucky asked he said he wasn’t willing to waste them on a sketch from memory made in the bad lighting. Bucky just smiled lazily and told him to waste them on whatever he liked.

The candle spluttered out just as he was finishing and they both lay in the darkness of a while, Steve on the couch and Bucky spread out on the floor next to it. Neither of them felt like getting up and re-lighting the lamp. Bucky lay there staring at the ceiling thinking about how Steve was twenty now. How that sounded old and young at the same time. He was interrupted by the gentle sound of Steve’s snoring. He smiled to himself and then got up.

“Come on Stevie.” he said, rubbing at Steve’s shoulder. “You know you can’t sleep on the couch it’d be hell on your back.”

“Mhmmm.” Steve said, barely moving. Bucky pulled him upright and threatened to carry him to bed like a kid. “Don’t you dare.” he said blearily. “I’m up, I’m up.”

Bucky hitched one of Steve’s skinny arms over his shoulders and half carried him over to his bed. Bucky lay him down and sat on the edge of the bed. Steve immediately curled around him, but he kept his eyes open, looking up at Bucky. He looked so soft and beautiful. Bucky swallowed.

“Goodnight, Stevie.” Bucky said quietly. He started leaning down although he didn’t know why. And for a second Steve seemed to lead up towards him. Then suddenly he turned his back to Bucky, curling the other way.

“G’night, Buck.” he said, words muffled in the sheets. Something in Bucky’s stomach dropped and he quietly went over to his own bed. He took off his socks and trousers and lay down but he didn’t feel tired anymore. In the darkness he could admit it to himself: for a second he had been sure that they would kiss. And he had wanted it. Even now he wanted to go over there, roll Steve onto his back and kiss him.

But Steve didn’t. More and more since they’d started having sex Steve had been pulling away from him, pushing him away whenever he wasn’t feeling like a lady. Steve had made it very clear that there was a distinction for him between Bucky-the-guy and Bucky-the-gal. And Steve was only interested in the gal.

He lay in the dark thinking for a long time. It didn’t really bother him that there was apparently a Steve-shaped quirk in his sexuality. The only thing that mattered to him was how oblivious he’d been. Of course he loved Steve. Steve was a goddamn walking miracle. A self-righteous punk whose heart was ten sizes too big for his body. And Steve was beautiful from his dainty fingers to his too-big eyes to his floppy hair and his deep rumble of a voice. How could Bucky have touched him, felt Steve’s delicate bones under his hands and not realized he’d do anything to be allowed to keep touching him for the rest of his life.

God, when he’d imagined his life he’d never been able to picture it without Steve, of fucking course he was in love with him. And well, he sort of had him. Sex sometimes, best friend all the time, how could he regret that. Bucky fell asleep thinking that despite being a massive idiot he’d somehow managed to get pretty much everything he’d ever wanted.


	3. 1939-1944

When the war first started in Europe it was all Steve could talk about. He knew it bothered Bucky, the way Steve’d get into arguments with just about anybody if they implied the U.S. should stay out of it, or that the Nazis had the right idea. But he couldn’t help it, they were wrong. Just because it was far away didn’t mean the problem didn’t impact them. If something bad was happening and people needed America’s help it was America’s duty to do something about it, no matter what the cost.

And then there was the attack on Pearl Harbor and Steve stopped getting in so many fights. Partially because everyone agreed now that the U.S. had to get involved, and partially because all the young fist-happy boys were too busy signing up for the army to beat on a little guy like Steve. The first time Steve tried to sign up Bucky barely spoke to him for two days. Steve sure as hell wasn’t going to apologize so they both knew it was just a matter of time before Bucky caved. On the third morning Steve woke up to see Bucky red-faced from crying.

“Look, I get it, Stevie. I do. I know why you want to do this. And if I’m bein’ totally straight I know its the right thing. But god Steve, I’m selfish okay. I know men’re gonna be fighting and dyin’ but I don’t see why you’ve gotta be one of them. Let someone else fight the good fight for once.” Steve was already opening his mouth, ready to argue but Bucky just held up a hand. “I know. I know you’ll never sit down and let someone else take a beatin’ for you. And I know you’re gonna keep going out there and tryin’ to sign up. But damn, Steve, I don’t gotta be happy about it.”

“You don’t have to be happy about it, no. But Bucky you’ve got to respect that its my own damn life and my own damn decision. And when it comes to this, no one, not even you, can stop me.”

Except, of course, the U.S. army could stop him. They could look at his history and look at his body and say ‘no,’ ‘no,’  and ‘no’ again. Steve kept trying though, even when Bucky called him a goddamn idiot, even when he refused to so much as mention the war. Bucky knew what the right thing was, it just so happened that for him their little apartment in their little part of Brooklyn was more important than doing the right thing. And Steve couldn’t hold with that.

Then Bucky got his draft letter. And Steve didn’t know what to feel. It was fair in a way. The war needed every man they could get and Steve knew someone as smart and hard-working as Bucky would be a good soldier. But Bucky was all Steve had. He couldn’t stand the idea of Bucky leaving him behind to go fight alone some place he may never come back from, no matter how righteous the fight.

Bucky took it pretty well. His hands didn’t shake when he opened the letter and he even forced a little smile. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t crack a joke or try to soothe the tension in the room, and if Bucky was quiet then something was clearly wrong. Later he would say that it was a good thing. Good soldiers made more money than tailor’s assistants.

He had a week before reporting to basic. Steve could tell he was trying to act normal, like nothing was wrong. But Steve would catch him staring into the distance a lot, biting at his bottom lip and picking at his cuticles. Bucky was worried. Steve tried to sign up again. But if God cared, he wasn’t payin’ much attention to Steve at the moment.

The day before Bucky left Steve took the day off. Yesterday had been Bucky’s last day at his uncle’s and his family was going to be seeing him off tomorrow. But for today he had nothing to do and Steve didn’t want to leave him alone to stew in his head all day. While Steve made breakfast Bucky started getting dressed up. Steve burned the toast because he was too busy watching the effortless way she put on her lipstick.

They spent most of the day talking. Living in each others pockets all the time, it’d be easy to think they wouldn’t really have much to say but that was the beauty of them, they could talk about anything. Somehow they ended up reminiscing about the first time they met and the first time Steve slept over at Bucky’s house and the first time they went to Coney Island. They were happy memories but somehow it seemed so sad talking about them now, as though they were sharing them for the last time.

After dinner they had sex. It was quiet and slow and Steve never wanted it to end. Usually they fell asleep together after they’d come but this time Steve knew Bucky was awake. He felt her warm tears falling into his hair although she didn’t make a sound. When she stopped crying she rolled away from him and sat on the edge of the bed. Steve turned towards her but he didn’t know what to say.

“Buck-” he started. “Bucky, it’s just basic this time. You’ll be busy shootin’ at dummies and crawling through the dirt. Sure, doesn’t sound like the best time. But you’ll be back before you know it.” Bucky didn’t move.

“There aren’t any women in the army, Steve.” she said finally. “No dames allowed.”

“But you’ll be there.” he protested.

“Yeah, but I think I’m gonna have to be a boy for a while now.” While Steve was trying to think of what to say, she got up. She picked her clothes up off the floor, putting on her underwear and neatly folding the rest. Then she took off her jewelry and her nail polish. She took a dish towel and scrubbed the makeup off her face and ran a hand through what was left of her curls. She just looked like everyday Bucky now.

Then she put everything away. And Steve thought his heart was gonna burst because it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair that Bucky had to lie about part of herself, had to pretend to be less than she was. When Bucky turned back to him it was with a blank face and somehow Steve knew he’d packed up the girl he had been. But he still came over to Steve’s bed and curled up around him. Steve didn’t say anything, just held Bucky’s arms closer around him. And eventually they both fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Bucky would have thought a lifetime of Brooklyn back alleys and poor neighborhoods would have acquainted him with dirt and grime. But nothing, nothing, could have prepared him for the trenches. For the stinking, marshy, blood and sweat and piss of the trenches. For the first few weeks he barely ate, stomach always rolling at the sight of food. But, as with all things he supposed, eventually he got used to it. Plus he’d been losing a lot of weight and the other guys were always on him to eat more, which was good of them since they would get his rations if he didn’t eat them. So he started eating better but he never really stopped smelling it, stopped feeling the grime grinding into every inch of skin, exposed or otherwise.

The killing was hard too. He told himself he had it easier than most, bein’ a sniper. But war wasn’t that simple and he had his fair share of close-quarters combat. There was nothing like seeing a man going from snarling and fighting and breathing to gurgling, bloody and eventually still right at your feet. Bucky preferred long-range. He was good at being a sniper.

And that was its own kind of problem because through a scope it was easy to stop seein’ the blood spray out the back of someone’s head, easy to stop thinking and just shoot. The thing was, he told himself, it was either someone on that side or someone on theirs and every person he killed was one less guy tryin’ to kill one of his buddies. So after a while he started to feel almost proud of it. Proud of how many rounds he could get off, how many difficult shots he could make, how well he could kill.

There wasn’t a lot of time to think about what was going on inside his head. He couldn’t wake up in the morning and feel around inside trying to figure out how he felt that day, if he was a girl or a guy. He was an army man now and the gal he’d been he had left back home with Steve. And it didn’t matter if some days the uniform felt huge and wrong across his shoulders and scratchy against his legs. Because of course it did. He’d never wanted to be a soldier. But what he wanted didn’t matter now and how he felt was secondary to survival. He tried to put it out of his mind.

Still, he thought about home a lot, although he tried not to. He especially tried not to think about Steve. He didn’t want the thought of Steve to be dirtied by this place. But there were plenty of close calls and when the sound of battle was loud in his ears and he thought this might be the end, he always let himself imagine a little apartment back in Brooklyn and a bed kept warm by another body. But each time he made it through. And Bucky wondered if part of it was because he wanted to get back to that place so badly. He wanted to live. Or maybe Bucky was just lucky.

But no one could get lucky forever.

 

* * *

 

Steve had never met a woman like Agent Carter. He liked her from the moment he laid eyes on her. She was strong but always fair; she never used her authority to push around people who didn’t deserve it. She could keep up with every male commander but didn’t try to pretend she was just like them. She was the underdog in this situation and she knew it but she kept her head high and refused to let anyone cow her into silence.

He paid attention to her, watched the way she interacted with her superiors and her underlings. With the former she was curt and sharp and smart. Steve listened carefully and heard her effortlessly parry tactics and finer points of espionage and sabotage. With the latter she was by turns hard and friendly depending on how much the man in question respected her. With Steve, who respected her a great deal, she was honest and forthcoming, helpful and respectful in kind. But even then she never let him forget her rank. She couldn’t afford to.

She was a bright spot in an otherwise dark landscape. Every night Steve re-read the two letters he had from Bucky. They were terse in some parts and overly light in others. There was so little of Bucky in them. Every night he wondered where Bucky was, how he was doing, if he was still alive. Steve knew Dr. Erskine had given him a shot but he worried every day that it wouldn’t be enough, that he wouldn’t make it through basic and he’d be right back where he started. Every night he thought of Bucky and his heart ached for missing him.

So he tried not to think about him. Saved his nights for Bucky and during the day banished him from his mind. And in his place Steve thought more and more about Agent Carter, Peggy. She was beautiful. He’d have to be blind not to see that. But she was different from every beautiful dame Steve had seen back home because he wanted to know Peggy, wanted to spend time with her and back her up and follow her orders and make sure others did as well. He’d never felt this way about a lady except maybe Bucky. But even then his feelings for her had always been mixed up in his feelings for his friend. Now there was a dame who he’d just met but still liked and respected and who he cared more about every day. It felt wrong. How could he care about anyone when he loved Bucky with everything he had? But not, apparently, everything because here was a part that could see and admire and love someone else.

He couldn’t decide if this was just one more way there was something wrong with him. Not just queer but fickle and disloyal as well. Or maybe he was getting better? Maybe this was a sign that he was getting less wrong? Maybe loving one woman made him more able to love another and now he would stop being queer and be normal instead. But that couldn’t be it because he still loved Bucky.

He didn’t know what to think. He was sure if he had enough time he could figure out what this all meant, could dig around inside himself until he had it all sorted out. But there just wasn’t time. He was working himself to the bone just trying to keep up and he was always exhausted. Before he’d had days where his body got the better of him but now he couldn’t afford to listen to his body’s complaints, just had to grit his teeth and bear it for as long as he could. The fear of failure pushed him on.

But his concerns over his feelings for Peggy came back the night Dr. Erskine explained the procedure to him. Dr. Erskine had said good became great and bad became worse. He’d also said that Steve was a good man. But no one, least of all him, was all good or all bad. So what about the bad parts of him? The dirty, the queer parts? The selfish and proud parts? Maybe they would get worse, or maybe his queerness would be cured along with the ailments of his body. Maybe he would be able to love Peggy and only Peggy, to do what was right.

He knew that was what he should want. But how could he give up Bucky? In the end it didn’t matter. He would go through with the procedure because he had to if he ever wanted to fight, wanted to help people. And whatever happened to him he’d have to adjust.

But the thing was, nothing happened. After the success and tragedy of the procedure and the aftermath Steve tried to take stock. And he didn’t feel any different. He still felt like himself, just without the constant pain and limitations of his old body. On the inside though he still felt like a little guy trying to figure himself out. He didn’t know what that meant. Maybe the serum hadn’t worked right. Maybe some symptoms were slower to manifest. He didn’t know but he knew he was still Steve Rogers, whatever that meant. Only now, it seemed he was also some guy called Captain America.

 

* * *

 

Bucky felt… different after the experiments. He supposed his entire situation was different. He wasn’t in the trenches anymore, wasn’t a few ranks above canon fodder but instead part of a specialized unit. And he had Steve beside him. Fighting with Steve gave him a dual purpose. Steve so staunchly believed in the importance of the war, in the righteousness of fighting that working beside him lent some of that feeling to Bucky. He started to believe again, started to feel like there was a point to the bloodshed. But more than that, and on days when that wasn’t enough, there was Steve throwing himself into battle, acting like he was invincible and it was Bucky’s job to watch his back. Nothing mattered as much as keeping Steve safe. Because, no matter how big he was, when Bucky looked at Steve he knew Steve was still the kid he grew up with who was always trying to stubbornly run himself into an early grave. No serum could change that.

So maybe it was just the situation, the motivation, but something left Bucky feeling different. He had a purpose the way he didn’t before but he also felt… different. He felt like Hydra had peeled his skin off and replaced it with someone else’s. Or maybe his skin was the same but everything else was different. He didn’t feel like himself. He lay awake at night trying to remember every detail he could from his childhood as though he could prove to himself that he was the same Bucky Barnes. But everything felt so distant now. He was Sergeant James Barnes, a sniper and a soldier and a Howling Commando. He wasn’t Bucky from Brooklyn, world class dancer, family boy and all-around charmer. But both men had something in common. They were both Steve Rogers’ right hand man.

Bucky didn’t know how to feel about this Agent Peggy Carter. He saw the way Steve looked at her and he knew: Steve loved her. And Bucky couldn’t really blame him. She was smart and beautiful and dangerous if you didn’t play your cards right. He was pretty sure most guys that met her were half in love with her. At least, they were if they had any sense. Bucky didn’t know how he felt though. He hated Steve sometimes for leaving him behind. At his darkest and most petty he wondered which god-forsaken hole he’d been fighting in while Steve was back home falling for someone else. But Bucky felt ashamed as soon as he thought it; Steve deserved to be happy and Bucky wouldn’t begrudge him a first class dame like Agent Carter.

And besides that, he felt himself drawn to Agent Carter. He had told himself over and over again there were no women soldiers but here was one. Here was a woman who walked among men in lipstick and heels but refused to be seen as less than a man. Bucky wanted to be just like her. And that was a jolt when he realized it. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to fit into his skin differently. But when Bucky saw her in that red dress something in her yearned for it. She wanted to wear that dress and walk into that bar and know that every eye in the room was admiring her. She wanted to feel that totally different kind of power that came with looking exactly how you wanted to. She looked at Peggy and Bucky wanted what she had.

But then it slipped away like smoke, like an illusion, like it had never been there to begin with and he felt like an army man again. He let himself forget all over again what if felt like to be a different version of himself. He put away that feeling, left it with a box of belongings he’d packed away in Brooklyn. He wasn’t that girl anymore.

When they had time off in London Bucky tended to drag Steve out with the rest of them. If he didn’t Steve would just stay in, drawing and planning and being Captain America. But Bucky wouldn’t stand for that. So as soon as he settled into quarters he’d grab his stuff and go over to Steve’s rooms so he could get ready in a real bathroom while he worked on Steve, convincing him to go.

This time Steve came and sat on the toilet while Bucky stood in front of the mirror, making sure his uniform looked just so and his hair was gelled back the way he liked it.

“I’m sorry.” Steve said suddenly.

“I don’t care how sorry you are, you’re comin’ out with us Steve, no way out of it.”

“No, no not about that. I was just- I was thinking-”

“Don’t hurt yourself.” he said, smiling. But he looked at Steve in the mirror and his face was serious. “What were you thinkin’?”

“I’m sorry. That you don’t get to be… yourself here.” Bucky immediately knew what he meant. He was always a guy here, never a gal.

Bucky looked at his reflection. He eyed the patch of stubble he’d missed under his chin. He looked at the dark circles under his eyes. Glancing down at where his hands gripped the sink he could see the little bits of grime still stuck under his fingernails. He felt the weight of the uniform and the firm grasp of his boots. He closed his eyes.

“This is who I am, Steve.”

“Yeah,” Steve said after a moment, “but it’s not all of you.” Bucky swallowed.

“Maybe not, but it’s enough.” he said because he had to believe it, even when it didn’t feel true. This had to be enough.

“Okay.” Steve said from just behind him. Bucky watched him in the mirror as he put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Good.”

And then Steve turned away, headed back into the main room. And all Bucky could think was I love you.

This had to be enough.

 

* * *

 

Steve knew the plan was risky. It depended on a certain balance of stupidity and pride on the part of Hydra and a good amount of luck. He knew if Bucky was there he’d be arguing against it, calling it foolhardy and unnecessarily rash. But the thing was Bucky wasn’t there. He was gone and Steve didn’t really give a shit if it was risky. All he cared about was taking down Hydra and making sure the intelligence Bucky died getting was actually worth it. Bucky’s death had to mean something.

And then he was on a falling plane and he was listening to Peggy on the radio and he didn’t want to go. He wanted that dance. It was easy now, to make plans he knew he couldn't keep. Easy to imagine that he could keep going after this, after the war. Easy to think about making a life with Peggy where before he couldn't have imagined any kind of life without Bucky. But now that it wasn't an option, now that he knew what he had to do, it was easy to think of all the other possibilities.

The initial impact of the plane against the ice sent him flying into the damaged control panel. When Steve flickered back into consciousness the cabin was filling with water and his limbs were already almost unresponsive in the cold. He tried to swim but he could barely move. The water rose and he took at last deep breath.

His mind floated in the icy darkness and he could almost hear Peggy’s voice still. He supposed it was alright. He was leaving her behind but he’d be with Bucky soon and that would be enough. And somehow Steve knew he’d be with Bucky. Maybe the way he was would mean he went to hell, in which case he figured Bucky would probably already be there for what they did together. Or maybe God was more merciful than that. In his last moments Steve let himself entertain the thought that maybe God would forgive him his sins and shortcomings. He had loved, perhaps wrongly, but purely and whole-heartedly. Perhaps God would see that. He could hope.

As the freezing water rushed into his lungs Steve was just glad he’d see his best friend again soon. He surrendered to the darkness, to sleep.

He was never meant to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The post-ws sequel to this fic is complete, but not yet fully edited. So expect that in a few weeks!


End file.
